


santa buddy by michael buble

by SuperChickenDX



Category: Kamen Rider Build
Genre: Christmas, Drinking, M/M, Mild Dad Jokes, Mild Daddy Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-25
Updated: 2017-12-25
Packaged: 2019-02-20 12:42:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13146939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SuperChickenDX/pseuds/SuperChickenDX
Summary: Between all the politics and fighting, he’d made no plans to celebrate.Nevertheless.There was a red-suited figure in sitting on the sofa. He was, however, decidedly less festive than the one he’d encountered in previous times.





	santa buddy by michael buble

**Author's Note:**

  * For [gulpereel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gulpereel/gifts).



> Merry Christmas to Gulpereels, who made a cascada amv about these two in the year 2017.
> 
> Set somewhere in the vicinity of episode 16, but don't ask me when or where.

Gentoku Himuro had, as a child, made it his business to find out what was in his presents before he opened them. He’d made his investigations on Christmas night itself for several years, sneaking down to the tree to poke and prod and peek inside, before quietly going back to bed.

  
It was a tradition that had suddenly some to a halt when he was nine, and Santa had been sitting waiting for him to appear. Himuro had realised the man was really his father before he spoke, _of course_ , but the shock of being found out had forced him to change his plans the next year and investigate earlier.  

  
He wasn’t really expecting any sort of Christmas celebrations this year. Oh, the staff had dutifully put up decorations for it, but between all the politics and fighting, he’d made no plans to celebrate.

  
Nevertheless.

  
“Merry Christmas, Gentoku!”

  
There was a red-suited figure in sitting on the sofa. He was, however, decidedly less festive than the one he’d encountered in previous times.

  
Even if he had taped fucking tinsel around his suit’s horn.

  
_And_ there was mistletoe on the end.

  
“What the fuck are you doing here?”

  
“Delivering a present. What, you’ve never heard about dressing up as a jolly red man at this time of year?”

  
“Oh, isn’t that something a good father does?”

  
There was a slow creak of leather as Blood Stalk leaned back further into the chair. “Now, now, don’t be a brat. Come and sit on my knee like a good boy. Tell me what you want.”

  
“War.”

  
“ _Language_ , Gentoku. Don’t call me a whore. You should try ‘Father Christmas’ if you want to play with names.”

  
Himuro pinched his forehead as he listened to Blood Stalk crack up at his own joke. He was far too sober to have to deal with the man. The cabinet on the left had some emergency gin in it, at least, and he crossed the room to pour himself a drink.

  
“Anyway,” said Blood Stalk, once he’d gotten through his laughter, “You’ll get your present in the morning.”

  
Himuro nearly dropped the can of tonic water he was holding. “Hokuto will-?”

  
“Oh, don’t try and get me to spoil the surprise. Perhaps I’ve gotten you a bike for Christmas.”

  
He’d put a lot of gin in the glass, but Himuro downed the drink in one, sense be damned. If he was going to celebrate and put up with Stalk at the same time, he needed the alcohol. “Would you care for a drink?” he eventually asked, after pouring himself a second.

  
“Do you have whiskey?”

  
“Not in here, no. Gin and tonic or nothing.”

  
“I’ll have one of those then, thank you.”

  
Himuro’s head was already starting to spin with excitement as he poured another drink. War! War with Hokuto! At last! Of course, in the morning, he’d have to be shocked by the news- no, better that he say that he’d seen this situation developing for quite some time, but regretfully Hokuto had refused to negotiate peacefully any longer. Yes, better that he had lost just a little control than have to pretend he’d been completely blindsided.

  
Besides which, it was almost the truth.

  
A drink in each hand, Himuro walked over to the sofa and stood in close to Stalk, between his spread knees. “Are you going anywhere after this, or will you stay a while?” he asked.

  
“Well now. Presents to deliver, children to judge-“ Blood Stalk reached out to slide one hand up Himuro’s thigh and grabbed his arse. Himuro’s breath caught to feel the points of clawed gloves dig in, catching on the fabric of his trousers.

  
“But I could be persuaded.” Stalk left the suggestion hanging in the air a moment, and Himuro sipped his second drink, and decided he would relax and have fun playing this game tonight. It was Christmas, after all. Why not cut loose a little?

  
“Take the suit off.”

  
“Ah-ah! What do good boys say?”

  
“Take the suit off or I’ll have to pour this down the horn if you want to drink it.”

  
Blood Stalk leaned back again, yanked the mistletoe off his horn, and dispelled his suit into mist, leaving behind Souichi Isurugi.

  
“I was looking for ‘please’, actually, but you made a good point.” He slipped the mistletoe into the breast pocket of his red corduroy blazer, and took the drink from Himuro’s hand. “Thank you.”

  
Himuro stood for a moment, considering where to sit- but on the sofa itself would end up awkward if the night ended up where the night seemed to be going. So he took Isurugi up on his earlier invitation by placing one knee in between the other man’s legs, and bracing himself on the back of the sofa with his free hand, over Isurugi’s shoulder.

  
Isurugi took a long sip of his drink, then turned his eyes up towards Himuro. “What can I get for you, Gentoku?”

  
Something between Isurugi’s cold gaze and low voice pierced him, and Himuro licked his lips while considering an answer.

  
“Everything.” It came out entirely too seriously.

  
“Do you deserve it?”

  
“I’ve been working hard.”

  
“But have you been good?”

  
“No. I’ve started a war.”

  
Isurugi turned his head aside to laugh. “On my list it says I was the one who did most of the work on that. What else have you been up to?”

  
“Turning people into monsters.”

  
“Awful behaviour.”

  
“Politics.”

  
“Very naughty indeed.”

  
“... I asked somebody to get rid of my father.”

  
“Well.” Isurugi took another sip, and Himuro watched the slight wetness of his lips as he smiled. “There’s a limit to the number of old men even you can have issues with at any one time. Best to thin the pack.”

  
Himuro leaned back, set his glass down on the coffee table, then pulled himself back in closer, properly straddling Isurugi’s knee now, warm arousal swirling together with the alcohol in his stomach. He ran a hand up Isurugi’s lapel to toy with it. “You don’t sound impressed with my list of bad deeds.”

  
“You haven’t seen mine.”

  
“I can be worse.”

  
Isurugi raised an eyebrow, and passed his glass to Himuro, who set it aside, next to his own. “Do show me.”

  
Himuro wondered when, exactly, he had lost control of the situation.

  
He seized the hair at the back of Isurugi’s head and pulled him in and they kissed, hard, and Himuro tasted the gin mixing with the shitty burned coffee that Isurugi’s mouth always tasted of. It was warm, and wet, and Isurugi was pliant and shifting beneath him, and yet-

  
A sudden familiar grip on his arse made him jump a little, and he twisted his fist in Isurugi’s hair. For that, he was rewarded with a moan, and the hands on him pulled him in closer yet. He ground down firmly with his hips, heat shooting through him.

  
Himuro broke the kiss long enough to gasp for air, until Isurugi tilted his head back to bare his throat. It was an invitation Himuro refused to refuse. He dived in to kiss and nip and suck at it, hoping to bruise, leaving hot trails all over, from Isurugi’s adam’s apple up to the corner of his jaw, and he drank in the soft noises he caused Isurugi to make.

  
“Thank you,” he whispered breathlessly after letting Isurugi’s ear slip from between his teeth, “for my present.”

  
“You’re welcome.”

  
Isurugi slid backwards a little, freeing himself from Himuro’s slackened grip. Between the red throat and the wet mouth and the lidded eyes, he looked- less wrecked than Himuro would have expected, or hoped, but interestingly eager. He spread his free leg further out, and rested his hands lightly on the front of Himuro’s thighs, and smiled.

  
“And what have you got for _me_ , Gentoku?” 

 


End file.
